Текст песни Ballad of Harry TMoore

It seems I hear Harry Moore; from the earth his voice still cries:
"No bomb can kill the dreams I hold, for freedom never dies.
Freedom never dies, I say. Freedom never dies.
No bomb can kill the dreams I hold for freedom never dies."

It happened in Florida, the land of flowers.
It was on a Christmas night.
Men came stealing through the orange groves,
Men of hate carrying dynamite.
It was to a little cottage,
The family in the name of Moore.
At the window hung sprigs of holly,
A fine wreath at the door.
It was on a Christmas evening
And the family prayers were said.
Mother, father, daughter and
Grandmother went to bed.
The father's name was Harry Moore,
of the NAACP.
He fought for the right for us to live.
Black folk must be free.

It seems I hear Harry Moore; from the earth his voice still cries:
"No bomb can kill the dreams I hold, for freedom never dies.
Freedom never dies, I say. Freedom never dies.
No bomb can kill the dreams I hold for freedom never dies."

It could not be in Jesus' name
Beneath the bedroom floor,
On Christmas night the killers hid
the bomb for Harry Moore.
It could not be in Jesus' name
The killers took his life.
And blew his home to pieces
And killed his faithful wife.
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They did this awful thing.
But when the bomb exploded and the Moores died,
No hearts were heard to sing.

And certainly no angels cried,
"Peace on earth, good will to men."
But round the world, an echo hurled
The question, "When, when, when?"
When will people, in Jesus' name,
And when will they, by prayer,
Know that each one has the right
To stand up everywhere?
When will people for the sake of peace,
The sake of democracy,
Know that no bomb you can make
Can stop us from being free?

It seems I hear Harry Moore; from the earth his voice still cries:
"No bombs can kill the dreams I hold, for freedom never dies.
Freedom never dies, I say. Freedom never dies.
No bomb can kill the dreams I hold, for freedom never dies."

So if you see our Harry Moore
Walking on a Christmas night,
Don't you fear and run and hide
He has no dynamite.
For in his heart is only love
For all the human race.
All he wants is for each of us
To have our rightful place.

And this he says, our Harry Moore, as from the grave he cries:
"No bomb can kill the dreams I hold, for freedom never dies!
Freedom never dies, I say!
Freedom never dies!
No bomb can kill the dreams I hold, for freedom never dies."